Job's Last Hour

The figure in the mud stared up at the oncoming rain. It lay in an awkward position, like a doll thrown carelessly by a girl throwing a tantrum. The right leg was twisted up, the right arm ended in a stump and its wings were torn. They shouldn't even be called wings; they had an ornamental look about them and you wouldn't believe they could provide lift for such a figure if you ever saw it.

There was blood all around the figure. A-ha. So now you know the figure is a carbon-based life-form. If you really want to know, she's a female human. And yes, it's her blood around her. Mostly her blood, anyway. She watched the rain wash down against her mask and just lay still.

An old lady walked past the figure silently, holding an umbrella to shield her from the rain, making painstaking progress with her walking stick. She'd pause to catch her breath once in a while, but she'd continue on her way, because she had to get somewhere. The old lady happened to catch her breath while she was over the figure and commented simply, "What are you doing lying there in the rain?"

The figure grunted, "I'm hurt. I can't move."
"I can't help you. I don't know first aid."
"I know, it just so happens that my right arm's gone. I won't be able to fix myself without my arm."
"Would you rather die instead?"
"Without my arm, I don't think I'd have much of a life anyway. Stop staring at me. Get lost. I want my own time."

A little girl skipped past the figure, holding up a little toy. "Would you like to know more about the latest technology?" She held the toy up gaily. The figure wanted to turn away, but she was finding it hard to do so.

"It's the newest thing called assisted mobility," the girl held up the toy.
"You wear this thing around you and you'll be able to move like a sprinter! The thing is powered by a small power source and responds to slight motions the body makes and moves the relevant portion of the frame that surrounds that body part!"
The little girl obviously doesn't realise how difficult it is for free movement: she's young and energetic and unhindered. The figure finally spoke,
"Such technology is still propriety. Only a select few people can benefit from it before the price finally drops. Only a few people can truly enjoy unhindered movement that this promises."
"By the time I grow old, it'll be mainstream! I won't limp about like my grandma with osteoporosis does!"
The figure smiled sarcastically. The girl was naive; she'd learn the ways of the world soon. The little girl skipped away with the toy.

A teenager with a book walked past. She swooned over the words and spoke randomly to the figure, "I never figured Norsk myths to be so romantic!" The figure hardly batted an eyelid. She'd continue talking about the book whether or not you want to hear it or not.
"It's so interesting how the warrior race had mythology regarding these creatures that picked the bravest warriors and accompanied them to Valhalla.
"Isn't it an empowering feeling, knowing that you get to pick those you felt fought the hardest or were the bravest? There's a balance of the genders, unlike books where only one gender was perfect."

Just as the teenager walked beyond the figure's peripheral vision, a shape appeared in the sky above her. It looked pretty bulky, although she could vaguely make out a homonid shape. It had spindly extensions from its shoulder blades, pretty much like a bat's wings without the skin stretched across the fingers. From the clouds formed under the wings, the figure knew that huge amounts of hot air were being vented out from the spindly appendages, providing the lift. The figure noticed that the shape was occupying more of her vision; it was going to land near her.

As the homonid shape busied herself near the figure, the figure noted how under the face mask was the wrinkled face of an old lady. This surprised her, since the figure had danced in the air like a nubile dancer performing a ballet. The shape touched her thigh armour, revealing a wide array of interesting looking implements.

"You're looking worse for wear." The shape's voice sounded muffled under her mask.
"Yea, I think I lost quite a bit of blood."
"Don't worry, I'm here to help you. I'm a valkyrie." The shape selected an auto-injector from her thigh pouch and twisted the dial, presumably to select the dosage quantity. Maintaining her conversation, the shape said, "I'd like to give you painkillers, but I think your heart rate might drop too low. Adrenaline will help get you up and give you enough kick to get back to the field surgeon. The clotting drugs you took before this probably saved your life."
The shape jabbed the auto-injector on the figure's neck, giving her a jolt of awareness. Around her, the sounds of explosions became apparent. The shape smiled and said, "Can you make your way back to the field surgeon?"

"I don't see any reason I'd want to preserve myself. I can't imagine living without my right arm. Do you even know what I am when I don't don this face mask? Do you even know why I agreed to don this mask? With my osteoporosis, I'm hunched over in day-to-day life. I'm growing old, when I walk, I make painstaking progress. What is my life if there's no quality to it?"

The shape stayed still kneeling beside the figure. Her lips were pursed into a straight line.

"With assisted mobility, I felt young again. Life was worth living for, even if that meant I had to be fighting a war."
"Is life really all about quality of life? I think there are other things worth living for despite being disabled. I've read stories of how amputees can be happier than multi-millionaires."
"At the crux of this issue is how happy these people are. Life has less meaning for me just because of who I am. It seems like a cosmic joke that I only truly feel alive on the battlefield."
Tears were streaming down the figure's face. The conversation wasn't going anywhere; they both knew it. Perhaps it was good that the shape beside her stirred and turned to assist other fallen soldiers on the battlefield. She did not know how to continue the conversation with the shape anyway.

The shape leapt into the air to fly towards her next casualty. She would have to find them, decide if she had the tools to administer first aid, diagnose the injury and provide either the drugs or dressing necessary. She could pull casualties great distances with her assisted mobility suit, taking them to the relative Valhalla of the field surgery. She was a Valkyrie.

A sudden bright flash lit up the figure's view of the sky. Where she last saw the shape, there was now a cloud of black smoke. She couldn't see clearly, but she knew that a cannon shell had exploded against the shape's right arm. The armour could withstand small-arms fire, but not an anti-aircraft shell. She knew how it felt falling through the air now that the wing was destroyed. The shape was probably teetering on consciousness from the shock of the explosion and from the massive haemorrage. Even as the shape dropped below her field of vision, she knew that she would land awkwardly on her right leg, driving her left side into the soft, sticky mud. She knew that the figure would lie in that awkward position for a good two hours.

She knew because the little girl, the teenager, the old lady and the Valkyrie are all the same person. From being naive and idealistic, she'd become disabled to the point of being crippled, tottering about her life finding no rhyme or reason. Assisted mobility offered a respite from this life that was proving painful to live. It was so amazing that even her seventy-year old frame moved like a young teenager's within the suit. But unlike the ideal vision her eight year old self foresaw, assisted mobility remained in the domain of the military. They gave her a new lease of life, and they're the reason she's dying in a wet, muddy, unidentified battlefield.

As the ultimate irony, the Valkyrie, the one who chooses warriors and gives them a new lease of life, loses hers in return.

I just want to die, the Valkyrie, numb from its pain, bleeding to death in the muddy field, screamed in her mind. -Jimmy